


A wall of lights

by AnneValkyria



Category: Original Work
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneValkyria/pseuds/AnneValkyria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entry 3. Original fiction. Everything they had been through has just brought them closer together. An ordinary Christmas story about an extraordinary family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A wall of lights

**Prompt:** Christmas  
**Title:** A wall of lights OF

**Beta:** hannah_perry85  
**Pairing:** N/A

**Rating:** M

**Genre:** Family

**Disclaimer:** I don’t actually need it, because I own these people… Muahahahaha…

**Summary** : Entry 3. Original fiction. Everything they had been through has just brought them closer together. An ordinary Christmas story about an extraordinary family.

 

**A/N: My third entry for the Better In Texas Winter Wonderland Contest**

 

* * *

 

Waking up to Bandit hollering, “Shut up, or you’ll wake the whole fucking building!” at his twin isn’t how I had planned on starting my morning. A glance at the clock tells me it’s only five am, at least four hours before any sane person should be awake. But no one ever accused us of being sane.

I stretch, and my back imitates the sounds of Whiz’s favorite breakfast cereal. My bed's still warm from my excess body heat, and all I want is to pull the cover over my head and sleep until I feel a little more human.

Cat decides to make her presence known in a shout that can raise the dead. “Don’t tell me to shut up! You shut up!”

I roll my eyes behind my closed lids. It feels weird, but I can’t help it. The terrible two-some just celebrated their nineteenth birthday, but you wouldn’t believe it by the way they act sometimes.

Usually they are nineteen going on fifty, hell with all the shit we’ve seen we all are, but when they argue they are transformed back into toddlers.

At one point their voices are so loud the words become indiscernible, and I have to peek above my covers to make sure they haven’t busted into my room demanding mediation. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Careful, it doesn’t go in there!!!”

“That’s what she said!!”

Would killing someone on Christmas Eve be considered bad karma? I think it would be worth it.

There is no way I’m getting any sleep now, may as well give up and get out of bed.

My feet ache when they touch the floor. I've never dealt well with the cold, and waking up to a freezing bedroom every morning is my own personal version of hell. It’s the one time having a built-in heating system doesn’t suck.

“That’s not how you plug it in,” Cat yells. “Is that how you wanna stick it to Spark? No wonder you’re not getting any.”

Now that just pisses me off. Not only am I awake because of their childish fight, but now she’s using me to taunt him? Isn’t it bad enough that instead of getting back to sleep, I have to go upstairs and referee in what can only be described as a battle of volume. One setting: High! 

Giving my bed a longing stroke, I shove my feet into a pair of knitted booties, pull a hoodie over my sleep tee and slip out the door.

I live in the basement, which is not the coziest of places but it’s safer for the others, and that’s really all that matters. My walls are made of stone, my bed a mattress with flame retardant bedding, and my dresser is a metal locker Bandit stole from the school a couple of blocks from here. It’s by no means a palace, but it’s home. The first home I’ve had in twelve years.

When we moved in here Cat wanted me to live on the same floor as Whiz. To be on the safe side, I tried to sleep in the bathtub with water up to my chin, but after she found me with my head underneath the surface she agreed that my living in the basement was the best option for everyone involved.

It has been two years and so far we have managed to stay hidden, sometimes in the shadows and sometimes in plain sight.

Bandit’s special talent for pick pocketing and identity theft keep us clothed and fed, while Whiz’s computer skills give us a roof over our heads. The building we call ours and the ones connected on each side have been condemned and are on the tear down list. When it comes too close to the top of said list he gets an email alert and moves it down to the bottom again. It wouldn’t work indefinitely, but we know to plan ahead and have money stashed here and there. Others like us have tried to run, but it usually isn’t long before they’re caught. Eventually you run out of places to hide.

I pause on the first floor to take a last calming breath before joining the chaos. My breath echoes between the walls and I imagine I can hear the emptiness, it’s eerie and oddly comforting.

Ten years have passed since I met Bandit and Cat. I had just turned eight and they were a week shy of celebrating their ninth birthday. The first facility they sent us to hadn’t been so bad. There was no Professor X to teach us how to be model members of society, but the doctors were willing to work with what we were able to give them.

That changed the day they dropped us off at RRC. Rosewood Research Center was run by a small staff of nurses and other medical personnel under the head of Dr. Vossen, an expert in genetic defects.

He had made Joseph Mengele look like that kid from Dexter’s Laboratory.

He would shoot me full of drugs and lock me inside a room. Every half hour he’d send in four people, two men and two women. They were usually “patients” who weren’t meeting his expectations, but sometimes they were just randomly taken from their homes or off the streets. He would watch from a camera embedded in one of the walls as I would eventually lose control, burning them to death. It took me three years to build a resistance to the drugs, and by then I had already killed hundreds of people. Cat was shocked with an inhuman amount of electricity and when she still refused to do his bidding he let his guards rape her, for hours on end. The first time it happened it took her over a week to return to human form. As an extra incentive they forced her twin to watch. As a shifter Bandit had regenerative qualities. If he lost a limb in a different form, it didn’t affect his own. When Dr. Vossen learned this he took delight in finding out if that worked indefinitely. He especially enjoyed hearing the screams of pain.

It’s been years but it still haunts us. It changed us. We have even stopped using our real names. We’re not those people anymore. 

I remember to cover my hair before I continue up the stairs. The smooth locks surrounding my head and down to my shoulder blades is black, which is nothing remarkable, but the rest is waves of red, orange and yellow making my hair look like it’s on fire. I have tried to cut it, leaving only the black, but the color followed as if my hair grew up instead of down. I have tried to dye it, but the color fades within minutes. I don’t find my looks modelesque, but I’m not what most people would describe as plain. I’m just...ordinary. At 5-feet-9 inches and 140 lbs. I am the definition of normal. Nothing about me stands out, not the rosy pink of my lips, not the burnished copper of my eyes. I even dress ordinary, in jeans or sweats and t-shirts. It’s not that I mind dresses, I just don’t have a use for them.

Bandit has dark blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes. He keeps his dirty blonde hair in a skull trim, is six-feet-and change and weighs in around 250 lbs. He has defined muscles and an athletic build which comes from more than just his home gym.

Cat is almost as tall and she shares the same color, but she keeps her hair a couple of inches longer. Her muscles are less defined, more wiry and sinewy and she has one blue and one yellow eye.

They are both gorgeous, but neither of them are comfortable in their own skin. Bandit prefers to take on the form of those he steals from, and Cat prefer the felines we named her after.

Whiz…well Whiz he’s… He has beautiful soulful brown eyes and skin the color of chocolate milk. He’s only about 4’9” and weighs less than I do with kinky hair cropped short. He’s a cute kid and one day soon he’s gonna start turning heads… If they can look beyond his scars. His face is not as badly burned as his torso but the lower half is covered with ruined tight, pinkish skin, all because of me.

Dr. Vossen wanted to use us as weapons. When I refused, he decided to test a new drug and lock me up with his own son. We escaped shortly thereafter, taking him with us. After what his own dad did to him, there was no way we could leave him.

Even if it would be possible for him to forget everything he has gone through, those burns remain as a constant reminder.

I am almost on the second floor as Bandit shouts; “Shut up, shut up, shut up. You little bitch, I’m gonna… _Holy shit_!”

The feline roar is followed closely by Bandit’s yelp. I shake my head with a grin and pick up the pace.

When I enter their living room I’m met with the sight of a pacing panther and Bandit sprawled out on top of what looks like old neon bar signs wearing only a pair of pajama pants. He’s cradling his arm where the teeth imprints of the big black cat are slowly fading.

“Good girl,” I croon but cautious to keep my distance. “Now change back and put on some clothes. I’ll get started on breakfast.” I move to help Bandit to his feet, being careful to avoid his searching eyes. “Not today,” I whisper, hoping Cat is too far away to pick up on my words. “I can’t do this today.” My voice takes on a desperate note.

Cat returns only wearing a tank top and panties, leaving her body and tattoos on display. Her body is a canvas of artwork where her favorite animals are represented. A panther on her left thigh, jaguar spots on her right hip, a roaring lion's face below her collarbone, and tiger claw marks on her left shoulder.

Bandit gives me one last lingering look, and leaning closer he speaks into my ear. “I’ll give you today, Spark, but this is far from over.” The sound of his voice brings to mind images of hot chocolate sauce poured over scoops of ice cream and I shiver, hoping he doesn’t notice.

I go to the kitchen and start gathering ingredients to cook breakfast. Nothing in here matches, but then again, neither do we.

Red lights flicker a couple of times before the whole floor lights up and black spots dance in front of my eyes. Curiosity and the twin’s cheers call me back into the living room. Two Budweiser adds, one big red cherry with a green stem and one sign that says girls, girls, girls and an arrow covers one wall.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, gesturing toward the eyesore to specify.

“Christmas decorations,” Bandit beams with pride and the awkwardness from a few minutes ago is gone. “They're all red,” he nods at one of the beer ads, “and that one has socks on it. Socks are Christmassy, right?” He cocks his head and eyes the other ad, which pictures a woman bent over at the waist. “That one looked like a reindeer when it was turned off.” He shrugs sheepishly, “Think he’ll notice the difference?”

Cat, who is usually quick to tell her brother what an idiot he is, looks just as proud. “Maybe, but he’s a thirteen year old boy. Aren’t girls all they think about.”

My chest feels warm and tight as I look at them and I can see what they see. We are not your everyday family, so why would we have an everyday Christmas?

Whiz shuffles into the kitchen in just his robe as I put the breakfast on the table. We don’t have assigned seats, and this morning he sits down next to me. He scoots the chair closer and rests his head on my shoulder. He sniffs my hair and goes on to inhale a bowl of snap, crackle & pop. Whiz has always been physical and loves to snuggle, maybe because he went without for so long? The feeling of his body close to mine never ceases to amaze me. By all accounts he should fear me, but he doesn’t.

Later we gather underneath the wall of lights and the floor is littered with wrapping paper. I blow out my burning fingers after lighting the last candle.

I look out the window where the snow is falling and I see the fire escape Bandit put in. There is one by every window on both the second and third floor. His face lights up when he sees the new tool set we bought him. He loves working with his hands, and they are good for more than just pick pocketing. “Fuck, you guys, you shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t swear in front of the kid, asshole.” Cat mumbles and stretches out around Whiz’s feet

“I’m not a kid,” he whines from behind the screen of his new laptop and reaches down to scratch behind her ear.

I smile. We’re not blood, but we _are_ family.

 


End file.
